


Rest your weary head and let your heart decide

by skinsuit



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-03
Updated: 2019-11-03
Packaged: 2021-01-21 13:02:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21299891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skinsuit/pseuds/skinsuit
Summary: "When you're feeling down and your resistance is lowLight another cigarette and let yourself go..."
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Kudos: 13





	Rest your weary head and let your heart decide

**Author's Note:**

> Need comments, will be very sad and feel like failure if I don't get them. I really love comments they keep warm when my soul is cold and weary. SO please make like book report and comment!

Crowley and Aziraphale sat on the sofa in Aziraphale’s bookshop, that night. The shop was closed the lights were down. They were laughing over some funny story about Gabriel. The laughter died off both of them had laughed way longer at the last joke. They had consumed about 2 and half bottles of Riesling between them and smoked about a half pack of cigarettes each. It was suddenly, awkwardly quiet. It felt odd, not spooky, but tense. Aziraphale glanced surreptitiously at Crowley, knowing that Crowley loved him, and that he loved Crowley. However it probably wasn’t going to work with heaven. Indulging that sort of behavior with a demon, even after what had happened would not be good. Crowley was looking purposefully in the other direction, however he was closer to Aziraphale on the sofa.

It was now or never, Aziraphale knew that he didn’t have the… gumption to do anything really. He plucked out another cigarette, lit it and smoked, letting the calming and steadying nicotine fill him. Crowley was closer now, He could smell him: musk and must, brimstone and the perfume of an obscure flower that died out about two thousand years ago. Aziraphale took another drag on the cigarette, then stubbed it out. Crowley had put his hand over Aziraphale’s. He pretended not to notice the warmth of the grasp. For one second Crowley heisted.

“Well?” Aziraphale said. “C’mon, don’t keep me waiting.”

“You knew?” Crowley asked a bit rattled.

“My dear boy,” Aziraphale smiled. ‘I knew for quite sometime.”

And Crowley kissed him. His lips were firm and he tasted like smoke and wine. It was wonderful, and lie felt like everything Aziraphale had ever wanted. So they did it again.


End file.
